


A Can of Spam

by Cheree_Cargill



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13444230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheree_Cargill/pseuds/Cheree_Cargill
Summary: Something is wrong with the ship's communications system and it is driving everyone crazy ... especially Spock.





	A Can of Spam

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Cheree Cargill and is copyright (c) 2008 by Cheree Cargill. This story is Rated PG-13.

"Incoming message," announced the unemotional monotone of the computer.

 

"Play message," Spock answered absently as he continued to undress for bed.

"Acknowledged," the computer replied

Spock took his pants off and, clad only in his regulation briefs and t-shirt, was about to fold them across his chair when a sultry female voice flowed like honey from the speaker. "Hey, there, mister. Does your lady get everything she's due? Would you like to satisfy her every time? Add up to three inches to your penis with new Lenghthex. Just say 'reply' and your order will--"

"Computer, stop transmission!" Spock snapped loudly. Instantly the recording cut off. "Origin of this message!"

"Unknown sender," the computer voice replied.

"Trace send path."

"Unknown path and destination."

Spock was beginning to fume. "Delete transmission and block any further messages of this type."

"Affirmative."

Still angry, the First Officer repaired to his bathroom and took his shower. As he came out half an hour later, dressed in his black meditation robe, he was prepared to spend the next hour communing with his Ancestors before going to bed. Instead, he saw the message light on the computer console was blinking. He sighed. "Computer, number of pending messages."

"Three messages."

"Play first message."

"Homeowners! Rates are low! Now's the time to refinance--"

"Computer, stop! Second message."

"Add bulk! Add strength! Just one capsule of Gorn Growth Hormone daily will--"

"Stop! Third message."

"Deer suhr ur madam," a heavily accented voice began in a pitiable tone. "I am de widah uf de Prime Minstah uf Ferenginhar. My huzbun wus keeled by rebels 'n now we haf nu munny. Pleese hep uz recuffer oor funs--"

"Computer, halt," Spock interrupted with an irritable sigh. "State the origin of these messages."

"Message one originates from '8893955' at 'refinancenowwithus' dot cycle3. Message two originates from 'yeahwegotyerstuff' at 'gornpharmaceuticals' dot cycle12. Message three originates from 'greatscams' at 'ferengiacquisitioncorp' dot cycle8."

"How did these messages get through the ship's communications screen?"

"Insufficient data," the computer replied.

"Delete and block," Spock answered. "No more messages tonight unless it pertains to ship's business."

"Affirmative."

The Vulcan shook his head and knelt before the firepot, hoping he could somehow manage to regain his serenity and meditate.

* * *

The next evening, the computer console was blinking even harder. "Fourteen messages," the computer announced.

"Play messages," Spock directed.

It started out well. "Spock, how's about a game of chess after dinner?" asked Kirk's voice. "Let me know."

Second message. "Mr. Spock, the results of your cadmium experiment are in," said the voice of Jackson, one of the engineering techs. "Shall I bring it to you or will you want the results tomorrow?"

Third message. "Hi, my name is Leela and I just LOVE spankings."

"Stop! Next!" ordered Spock.

"Capellan spice! Braxothine! Rigellian energy caps! Lowest prices in--"

"Next!!"

"Spock, just a reminder," said McCoy's voice. "Time for your annual braxothine booster. Stop by sickbay tomorrow sometime and we'll get you fixed right up."

"Next."

"Free credits! Free latinum! We finance anything!!"

"Stop!"

"Is there pornography on your computer? We can help you find it--"

"Next." Spock was beginning to feel a headache coming on.

"Hottest Orion slave girls in the Federation! Waiting to entertain YOU!"

"Next."

"Add FIVE INCHES to your penis overnight! New Lengthens Max--"

"Computer, halt." Spock rubbed the growing pain between his eyebrows and asked, "How many non-ship-related messages?"

"Eight unheard messages," the computer replied.

"Delete and block. Ship's messages only."

* * *

By the next morning, there were thirty-four waiting messages for him:

"Hot Andorian Women Seeking Vulcan Men in Pon Farr!"

"Order discount prescription Klingon aphrodisiacs delivered RIGHT TO YOUR STARSHIP!"

"Thank you for subscribing to Tholian Web Newsnet. Your best source of Tholian fun and politics in the Beta Quadrant."

"Federation-wide Mortgage Lenders Are Fighting For Your Business! Re-finance your Pressure Dome now!!!"

"Add an amazing SEVEN INCHES to your penis with new Ultra Lengtho!!!"

Spock deleted them all and blocked them and went to breakfast. There he found Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy in decidedly surly moods. As soon as the Science Officer joined them at the table, they pounced.

"Spock, where in the seven hells are all those advertising messages coming from?!" Kirk demanded, his face redder than normal.

"Yeah -- I'll second that!" McCoy jumped in. "Do you know how many messages I've had to delete off my message console in the last day or so? By God, I don't need my penis lengthened--"

Abruptly he shut up, realizing that this might not be the proper topic for the officer's mess and at breakfast at that! Still, he glared balefully at the Vulcan as Kirk returned to the attack. "How are these ads getting through the grid, Spock? You're in charge of the computers!"

"I do not know!" Spock answered somewhat defensively. "I have a complete overhaul and diagnostic of the main computer already in progress!"

Uhura and Christine Chapel were in the process of walking by the senior officer's table at that moment and halted with trays in hand, both of them looking cross. "Mr. Spock," the communications officer announced, "when are the boards going to be cleared? This incoming junk mail is completely clogging communications! Everybody on this ship has been complaining to me about it!"

"I will have the computers repaired as quickly as I can discover the source of the problem, Miss Uhura," the First Officer sighed. "Meanwhile, please deal with it as best you can."

She harumphed and stalked away, leaving Christine. The nurse glared at him for a long moment, her blue eyes smoldering, then she leaned closer and hissed through clenched teeth. "And I'll have you know I don't even HAVE a penis!" Then she was following Uhura.

Spock decided to forego his breakfast and get right to work.

* * *

By mid-day, the diagnostics had pinpointed a breach in the ship's command code system. Apparently, a Ferengi hacker had managed to discover the ultra-secret code through random dialing and decipher it, allowing him not only to break into the ship's private communications, but he'd also made about a quadrillion bars of gold pressed latinum by selling the code on the open market to the highest bidder, which in turn allowed every other advertiser in the Alpha Quadrant and beyond to flood the starship with what had been in the 20th century known as "spam."

Meanwhile, the amount of unwanted messages defied every attempt to block it and continued to inundate the ship's message boards with geometrically increasing volumes:

"LOWEST MORTGAGE RATES SINCE THE FIRST ROMULAN WARS! Refinance NOW before it's too late!!"

"The most advanced penis enlargement formula in the Galaxy is now even _more_ effective! Add an unbelievable NINE INCHES to your penis NOW!!!!"

"Medications for: Weight Loss, Pain Relief, Muscle Cramp Relief, Women's Health, Men's Health, Impotence, Allergy Relief, Heartburn Relief, Migraine Relief, Constipation, Diarrhea, Regulan Hoof Rot, and the heartbreak of Psoriasis! Shipped overnight to your planet -- no questions asked!"

"Hot Tellarite Beauties Waiting to Pose for YOU!"

"Now is the time. Rates at all-time low. All types of credit welcome. Shuttlecraft Loans our specialty!"

"Overloaded with Spam Mail? T'Norton's Systemworks blowout sale, over 90% off Vulcan's most trusted computer utilities!"

"We guarantee an unbelievable TWELVE INCHES added to your penis or your money back with new and improved MegaGro Lengtherine!"

The communications computer finally blew its circuits out in a spectacular explosion and could not be repaired. It took a full three weeks at Star Base 11 in order to completely replace and reprogram the ship's computer system (with a new command code sequence guaranteed absolutely, utterly confidential by the Starfleet techies) before the _Enterprise_ was finally able to put to space once more, finally and blessedly free of the plague of junk messages.

* * *

Spock came off shift after a peaceful day of routine duties and sighed happily to see that there were no messages whatsoever awaiting him. A whole month had gone by and the agitated crew had finally settled into the everyday swing of things once more. Even McCoy was smiling at him and Uhura had been humming over her console most of the afternoon.

The intercom whistled and Kirk's voice came over the speaker. "Spock? I'm going to supper. Want to join me and then maybe play some chess afterwards?"

"I would be delighted, Captain," Spock answered. "I shall meet you in Rec Room 3 in seven point three minutes."

Kirk laughed. "See you there, Spock. And get ready to lose!"

He switched off and Spock was on his way out the door when the computer stopped him. "Incoming priority red message."

That sounded important. Better take it. "Acknowledged. Computer, play message."

There was the soft beep of switching channels, then an overly cheery male voice demanded, "Is your penis too large? Do the women back away in horror when you whip that monster out? Would you like a NORMAL love life for a change? Then Penile Reduction Cream is for you!!"

THE END


End file.
